g some
little attention on the bewitching curly-headed, chubby-cheeked little
damsel who clung to his trouser leg, and raised entreating eyes from the
altitude of his knee. Mr Vane felt guiltily conscious of having
neglected this child, and now in the content of gratified ambition he
proceeded to make good that neglect by petting her to her heart's
desire, until as time went on it became an open question whether his
daily visits were not paid even more to the girl than to the boy.
Ronald remained his father's pride, but Margot was his joy, his pet,--in
years to come his comfort and companion.

There was more of the dead mother in this last daughter than in either
of the elder sisters; she had her mother's gift of insight and
understanding.

This was not the first time of many that she had crept downstairs after
the household was in bed, to play David to his Saul, and to-night, as he
turned his eyes to the doorway and recognised her slight figure, it was
not surprise which he felt, but rather a shamed and uneasy
embarrassment. "Margot! It's very late! Why are you not in bed?"

She shut the door and crossed the room to his side.

"I wanted to talk to you!"

"To remonstrate, I suppose, for what I said at supper! You and Ron are
angry, no doubt, and feel yourselves badly used. You have come to fight
his battles, as usual."

"No. I don't want to fight at all. Just to talk to you a little while,
and say I'm sorry."

She seated herself on the arm of his chair as she spoke, and leant her
shoulder carelessly against his; but he edged away, still sore and
suspicious.

"Sorry for what?"

"For you! Because _you're_ sorry. Because I knew you'd be sitting
alone, doing nothing else but being sorry. So I came down to put my
arms round your dear old neck, and kiss your dear old head, and tell you
that I love you. Badly!"

Yes! Margot understood. In just such pretty simple words would his own
Margaret have chased away the black spirit years ago. Mr Vane puffed
at his pipe, staring fixedly across the room, to conceal the sudden
moistening of his eyes, but his figure sank back into its old place, no
longer repulsing the caress.

"It's a hard task for a lonely man to manage a family of children. He
gets all the kicks, and none of the thanks!"

"That's exaggeration, dear--which you are always protesting against in
others. We are tiresome and self-willed, but we know very well how much
we owe to you, and your